


Novocaine

by theravcnboys



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravcnboys/pseuds/theravcnboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were so many things Joseph Kavinsky was intrigued with, enough to make him want them, and Ronan Lynch was the only one he couldn't get. (Joseph Kavinsky through the course of The Dream Thieves.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were so many things Joseph Kavinsky was intrigued with, and what pisses the hell out of him was the fact that Ronan Lynch was the only one he couldn't get. He couldn't peer enough, be involved enough — hell — he couldn't even pry enough to know. 

There were two things about Ronan that intrigued him: 

One, was knowing they weren't that far apart. 

He had already admitted for the most part of his life that he was an asshole. That was a universal truth. A given variable. People look at him from across the street and think, "What an asshole." Then these people get in touch with him, or anything else that he has touched, and realize that first impressions are to be remembered 'cause damn right, he really was an asshole. 

And he was actually proud about it, no shame on that. 

There's something about being able to do any reputation-wrecking thing you want because you don't even have a reputation to begin with. In other words, he embraced it. Like a fucking religion. 

But then there was Ronan Lynch going to church every single time he can with that delicious tat snaking out of his shirt that Kavinsky couldn't even begin to quite comprehend why he's allowed to brandish when every single bitch inside that thing eyes him like they've already pinned him down a wall and is in the process of devouring him. No one's probably tried, that much he can say. What with all Ronan's death glares. Though he can't trust himself not to, if the chance was there. Or if the churchgoers will not burn him on sight. 

And then there was Ronan trying to blend in with that Dick Gansey's crowd — if the four of them can even be considered as one, that is — looking like a damn lapdog. He had nothing against Dick at first. They were different sides of the coin. He considered Dick to be the one on the front since he already probably will be in the future. And he, well, he was the side of the coin. There wasn't any explanation. He just doesn't give a shit whose side are you on. And Ronan wasn't much better. He could go jetskiing on holy water and sing lullabies to himself with the word of the Lord but there's no mistaking the fuckwad that he was. But still, he could never get in the slightest bit of his life. And that was just the first reason. 

Second, well, everything. 

Everything that made Ronan Lynch himself was intriguing enough for Kavinsky. But then that one night, the night where he saw what he could do, he wasn't just intrigued with him. He needed to get him, 'cause that was the time where he unmistakably knew that he wasn't the only one. He wasn't the only one. 

There were so many things Joseph Kavinsky was intrigued with, enough to make him want them, and Ronan Lynch was the only one he couldn't get. 

He had a lot of sentiments before coming to this conclusion, of course. It may not look like he'd been doing it, but he'd been consulting his own mind about this. He wondered whatever it was about that damned Lynch that he wanted until his face bled. Actually that was an understatement, because he thought about what it really was until he couldn't dream anymore. He knew the other boy being capable of what he can do himself was one thing. But there was something else in Ronan that he wanted. In the end of 'consulting his own mind' sessions though, the only thing he could provide himself was a short, "Fuck it, just because," and that was enough to keep him going. 

Not for long, though. There's only so much he could take. Funny how his crusade towards getting Ronan to his side was the only thing he has said that to, however true it was. 

It's true that he had been tormenting Ronan more than anyone he had ever met since the discovery. He had it all planned, which was saying something, since Joseph Kavinsky wasn't exactly a poster boy for being methodical. He couldn't be a poster boy for anything other than recklessness, to be perfectly honest. But he knew Ronan then, or his reputation, at least, and he knew it wouldn't be that easy to go after him. He knew he was reckless too, though, and that was something he definitely worked out as an advantage. Because if there was someone who could talk you — provoke you —through doing things, that guy would be him.

He wasn't sure at first what it would be. What would be the thing to start with. Ronan wasn't exactly what people can call an open book. Kavinsky sure as hell wouldn't go with their crowd, that's for sure. But Ronan wouldn't go to his, too, and that's what made it extremely difficult to figure out how to even enter the boy's life. The two of them weren't exactly the friendly type. And that was when it hit him. Of course, they weren't friendly. That's exactly the point. 

A few months later, street racing was already becoming a talk among the boys. Kavinsky knew he couldn't resist this. They weren't exactly far apart. Competition, vehicular trouble, spiking rate of fatality: It was Ronan's life in a nutshell. And the next thing Kavinsky knew, he's had a new arch-nemesis. Perfect. 

He never expected himself to be looking forward to Sundays. But there he was, doing a line on his Mitsubishi's dash, waiting for Ronan. It was almost like a date. Only with more loathing and violence and tire-screeching involved. Just the way he liked it. 

More time has passed and Kavinsky grew bored. He knew it would take time. A lot, in fact. But he didn't know being methodical could be so boring. The only bold thing he'd done this entire time was that unsuccessful attempt at a threat, which Ronan didn't exactly take seriously. Dick Gansey was there though, who looked more distraught with the threat, as if he was the one street racing with him all those nights. That move was so subtle. Not his style. Kavinsky wanted nothing but the day where he could just slam Ronan against a wall and do — well, whatever the hell he wanted. And that was when he knew he needed to do something. This whole methodical shit wasn't his line of work. He was good at one thing. And that's where he's going to rely on.


	2. Chapter 2

He arrived at Nino's exactly when Ronan and his murder was there. Stalking wasn't really that of an appealing idea for Kavinsky. He was just partly grateful how forgery works so well when it comes to sources. Money isn't always what he wanted in return for all those fake licenses, after all.

Kavinsky stopped at the hostess stand and waited. The girl — Blue if he remembered correctly — whose significance to the whole Glendower bullshit of Gansey's was something he couldn't put a finger on, was already walking towards his direction. She assessed him closely, that he could say as much. And he could also say that she was fairly terrified of him. Something in her train of thoughts made her stiffen a little as she was heading towards him, Kavinsky noted. He didn't usually take pride with other people's reaction towards his presence, but there were times he just had to indulge himself with it.

"Hey, baby doll," he said casually. The poor girl tried to look brave, which she actually sort of failed to achieve, since a tinge of worry flashed her face. She looked like she thought he could eat her. Shame. Kavinsky wasn't really open to public affairs. He didn't want to make a scene.

"I am not a baby doll," she answered defiantly. Even with the attempted courageous feat, her face turned a darker shade of red. Kavinsky wasn't exactly that peachy to play with her though. He scanned the crowd.

"Table for one?" He heard her add, as he jerked his chin up to find Ronan at the other side of the room, sitting with his arms crossed. He thought about generally ignoring her, seeing that he had already seen what he came for. He thought twice about it though, and gave her credit for standing up to him, even ineffectively so, and answered, "My party's already here."

He went straight ahead for the large table in the back, where Ronan was seated, and he could see them all shift at their seats. Aside from Ronan, of course, ever so stoic. Tension filled the air around them. How could it not when even Dick stood up, which was something he didn't exactly expect? He turned his attention back to Ronan, whose stare could've burned him on sight. So this was how it was going to be. What about all those Sunday nights?

"I saw your POS out front," he told Gansey casually, and added, "And I remembered I had something for Lynch."

He knew this was rather another subtle move, but he had hoped it provided enough clue to make Ronan think about it. Then maybe his work could be easier. Ha, easier. Ronan Lynch. Easier. Not exactly fit to even be used in two succeeding sentences. He laughed at the thought and finally dropped the tangled pile of wristbands identical to what Ronan was always wearing. He had taken precarious measures into achieving the perfect sight of it, which wasn't that hard, seeing that those things were always in Ronan's wrists everytime he drived.

Ronan looked unimpressed, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. When he finally saw what the pile was, Kavinsky thought he saw his breath hitch and eyes widen slightly, but he recoiled to his usual, uninterested look in record time for Kavinsky to even verify.

"How sweet, man." Ronan the tangled mess, examining it. "It goes with everything." Kavinsky was losing his cool. Ronan didn't even notice how improbable it should have been for him to have those. He expected better of him.

"Like your mom," he just said, trying to compose himself.

"What am I supposed to do with them?"

"Hell if I know. I just thought of you. Regift them. White rabbit shit."

"Elephant."

"Don't bring politics into this, Dick," he replied before slapping Ronan's shaved head and rubbing it. He liked how it distressed him. Before enjoying this too much, he said, "Well, I'm out. Things to do. Enjoy your book club, ladies."

And with that, he left, feeling the stare of the boys and the girl at the back of his head.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Joseph Kavinsky had a life.

Although most of the said 'life' was comprised of sex, drugs, cars, and death, he accepted it for what it was. Better than nothing, after all. It has kept him occupied for so long that he has developed a feeling of fondness towards it. And it had been occupying him when he next saw Ronan out of drag racing.

It was where he least expected seeing him: in his turf. Or his subdivision's vicinity, at least. What has he been up to? Something important must bring Ronan Lynch in here. Good thing I'm always ready to die, Kavinsky thought. He rolled up beside the BMW at an intersection, and knew Ronan wouldn't deny a challenge like this. Kavinsky rolled down his window, and Ronan did too. It is on.

"Fag," he started, stepping on his gas pedal. It was both pleasing and terrifying how his car reacted to it.

"Russian," Ronan replied, stepping on his car's own gas pedal. Frankly, in the spectrum of morally-degrading insults available, Kavinsky was unimpressed with what Ronan barked back.

"Hey now, let's not make this ugly." He simply stated, in good humour.

Not long after, Ronan tossed something through his open window onto Kavinsky's passenger seat. He picked it up and examined it closely. So this was what he's been up to. He didn't show it but he felt relieved that it wasn't just his good looks that Ronan sported. He recognized the game he was trying to set up. Though he noticed how darker the tint of Ronan's sunglasses were, he smiled slyly at him.

"Well done, Lynch," he started, referring to getting in touch with Ronan's own dreams. Then added, "Where'd you find them?" for good measure.

Ronan didn't reply. He smiled thinly at him in return, as he turned off the air-conditioning system of his BMW.

"That's how it's gonna be? Hard to get?" Kavinsky asked, though he has known the answer long enough. It has always been like that since the very beginning.

"Yes," Ronan replied, just as the traffic light above them turned green.

Both cars seemed to explode as they drove off the mark. Kavinsky's Mitsubishi had a great start, but Kavinsky screwed the shift, just as Ronan didn't. He tore around a corner and Kavinsky honked his horn twice and did a gesture, as Ronan continued to speed ahead to wherever Dick probably was. _That's great, Lynch_ , Kavinsky thought, _cherish your moments being all sunshines and happiness._ You'll never know when they'll end.

It took them long enough to cross paths again. Kavinsky heard about stuff. Several sources made that entirely certain. There was this affair with the older Lynch brother, something about him getting his face bashed. They said 'burglars.' Kavinsky said 'hell-to-the-fuck-no.' Burglars don't fucking beat you up and leave you alive after getting what they wanted. This was obviously something else entirely. God, there were enough mysteries in this Earth already, but Dick's entourage seemed oblivious to all of it. They just went to uncover more, and more, until all of those damned mysteries pile up in one great, big, fucked-up mess. That has got to be the death of him, Kavinsky was sure of it. And surely it didn't look that far-fetched of an idea, as Gansey and Ronan appeared to deliver the news of someone trashing their shitty apartment, by going to his substance party, of all places.

Dick Gansey III, in a substance party. He's probably high as fuck now to even think about this. And because dreams and realities aren't exactly that definite for him, and because he was himself, Kavinsky threw his bottle at the hood of Ronan's BMW. The sound of the bottle shattering to pieces revealed Kavinsky's suspicion that he was just really high. But not high enough to ignore the massive fact that Dick Gansey was actually in a substance party. This was such a big deal he couldn't let it pass. But then there was Ronan. And III's presence in a substance party has nothing on Ronan's in it.

He welcomed them with his best attempt with being a gracious host. He turned to Ronan. "Hey, lady. This is a substance party. Nobody's in unless you brought a substance."

The next thing he knew was seeing Ronan showing him his bloody knuckles tainted with his blood. "Here's your substance." Being high was a great advantage with numbing things, Kavinsky thought, good thing.

He composed himself and wiped his nose. "Hey, man, you don't have to be so fucking antisocial." Violence plays a definitive role in Kavinsky's life. But a nice prelude to it involving vulgar bantering would do.

"I don't want to keep you from your revels," Gansey said in his most icy voice Kavinsky has ever heard ever, "so I'm just going to say this: Stay out of my place."

Kavinsky was alarmed, yet uninterested. This has nothing do with him. And it took Gansey long enough, even with the aid of Kavinsky's drug-induced, defensive explaining, to figure it out. Sometimes he doubted whether all that intelligent reputation was worth preserving.

"So what are you going to do about your rat problem?" Kavinsky finally said. Gansey looked like he didn't have any idea. "Beg pardon?" Ah, yes. Sometimes people don't always live up to their reputations.

He laughed at the thought, at Gansey's ridiculous question, at the world, and at everyone in it. God, he felt like he was fucking the moon. After recovering himself, he said, "If I didn't trash your place, something else is infesting it." Making sure III understood the rat problem.

Dick's gaze flickered over to Ronan, and Ronan held it. It was as if they were talking without actually doing it. It felt like a private moment between them, sharing a connection, and it made Kavinsky want to go away and vanish. Hell, it would make anyone go away. They were literally eye-fucking each other in front of his own face. Something simmered inside Kavinsky, and he was slightly grateful for Proko's uninvited attention, which broke all the damn gazing.   
  
"Lynch!" Proko started, "And Gansey?" It's settled then, Kavinsky definitely wasn't the only one revelling at Dick's presence in a substance party.

"Yeah, Mommy and Daddy came. Hey, Gansey, you get a babysitter for Parrish?" Kavinsky said, then thought better. "You know what, man, don't answer that; let's smoke a peace pipe."

He knew how basically harmless Dick was. Give him a knife while you're fighting each other and the guy will most probably make a sandwich for the two of you while you talk through things. But tonight there was something on the edge about him. And Kavinsky wanted none of that tonight. He wasn't so sure about Ronan though.

"I'm not interested in your pills," Gansey answered disdainfully.

"Oh, Mr. Gansey. 'Pills!' First rule of substance party is, you don't talk about substance party. Second rule is, you bring a substance if you want another one." Kavinsky said, asserting his role as a gracious host once again. He liked the idea of having Gansey where he wasn't the one in charge. He added, "Lucky for you Mr. Gansey, I know what your dog wants."

Kavinsky saw Gansey edge away as Proko chortled for the second time. He looked back at him with a look Kavinsky has never seen him sport before. He replied, "And what is it my dog needs?"

Now that Kavinsky had paid enough attention, it was as if Gansey was a different version of himself. He was wearing a condescending smirk, for one. And Kavinsky was torn between feeling threatened and excessively intrigued at the same time. The latter dominated. "Pyrotechnics," he started. "Boom!"

He eyed the girl, whose name was lost between 'not fucking relevant' and 'I don't give the slightest shit about whatever it was.'

"Get out, bitch. Unless you wanna die. It's all the same to me." Kavinsky was an asshole, yes, but he knew things done for you should be rewarded. And reminding this girl to get out of his damn car before it starts to burn to the ground was something overly appreciative already for her mediocre blowjobs.

"That dent will come out," Ronan said. Kavinsky looked at him and saw how thoughtful the boy was of his Mitsubishi. He was already grieving for it. Poor boy probably thinks he'd never see it again.

"I'll always know it was there," Kavinsky replied, knowing better, and turned to Proko. "Cherry, popped. Prokopenko, make me a cocktail, man."

Prokopenko handed him the Molotov cocktail and turned to Gansey. He thought twice about handing it to him. What with all Dick's preservation of himself from violence. Much to his surprise, he accepted it. He caught a glimpse of Ronan who looked as surprised as he was, but with more surges of delight and pride over what Dick just did. Now he really was threatened.

Gansey hurled the bottle towards a Volvo, which wasn't really what he should've aimed for, but the crowd was pleased nonetheless. The bottle landed short of the car's rear tires, and was followed next with the orchestrated sound of breaking glass and explosion. That was when Kavinsky knew how high he was. Fuck, he felt like battered-faced angels were singing in the background and the explosion was a rhythm the world was following. The angels were probably here to drag him down. Wrong substance party.

"Good throw, but wrong car. Proko!" Kavinsky ordered, and Prokopenko graciously handed him another cocktail. This one was pressed into Ronan's hand. Kavinsky leaned close to him and said, "It's a bomb. Just like you." And he was more than satisfied to see how thrilled he was to be here, doing this. The feeling beats all the mediocre blowjobs altogether, if Kavinsky was to be asked.

"Aim high," he pointed at his car and advised, "And do it fast, man, or you'll blow your arm off. No one wants half a tattoo." And that 'no one' included him. Something about Ronan's tattoo inflicted something in him to make Kavinsky particularly fond of it.

Ronan hurled the bottle towards the Mitsubishi and looked as if it was the most wonderful thing he has ever done just about now. Kavinsky couldn't even begin to put to thoughts how pleasing this was for him. The other boy continued to look at the wonderful wreckage that was the Mitsubishi and Kavinsky couldn't help but laugh. He threw another bomb through the window of the car. Proko threw another next to his.

He glimpsed at Ronan, who now looked crestfallen. Kavinsky hadn't thought about the boy being sentimental before, but the Mitsubishi was really probably something he has grown fond of, too. He alerted Skov for music and there it was, filling the air. He turned to Ronan, "You coming to Fourth of July this year?"

Ronan looked over at Gansey. And once again, fury simmered inside Kavinsky. How can these boys depend so much with one another? "Maybe," Ronan answered.

"It's a lot like a substance party," Kavinsky said. He wanted nothing more than to persuade Ronan to this. "You want to see something explode, bring something that explodes." There it was again. Kavinsky wondered whether he was forever doomed to only convince Ronan of doing what he wanted was by taunting him.

"Maybe," the boy repeated, catching a sight of Dick already moving towards his car. "I'll light a candle for your car." Ronan liking Kavinsky's car more than Kavinsky himself told a lot.

"You aren't leaving? Harsh."

"Stay out of our place."

"I only come where they invite me, man."

"Lynch," Gansey called. "We're gone."

He looked over at Ronan who looked happy to oblige. FUCKING. LAPDOG. Kavinsky shouted an attempt to getting either of the two offended. He didn't even convince himself it was. He was too occupied with hating the sight of them. He hated how much of a hold Dick Gansey has over Ronan and he hated how he couldn't even put a fucking sliver of control over him without Ronan beating him up and making him start all over again.

And that's exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

Kavinsky wanted nothing but to liberate Ronan about his whole damned life. He wanted to shake him senseless until he sees how pathetic he looks like wagging his tail after Dick Gansey's every motherfucking move. His work was difficult as it was, and Ronan racing against him with Dick's Camaro wasn't doing the trick.

He retained his cool and pulled up alongside the car.

"Lynch, you bastard," he greeted. It was a nice day. Ronan answered with a middle finger. Kavinsky turned to appreciate the work that was Dick's car. Although he loathed how comfortable and at home and fucking proud Ronan was to it, the car being Gansey's and all, he was impressed with it. A gorgeous Camaro was what it was. "I'm impressed," he said. It would be a shame to beat it.

Ronan jerked his chin at his car. Another Mitsubishi. He could see how fascinated the boy was, minding the fact that the last one that he saw was the same Mitsubishi that he burnt to the ground. "That makes one of us," Ronan said.

"Oh, this one's got a bit more going on," Kavinsky remarked. "You don't like it?" He contained his smirk. He'd spent a long time coming up with this beauty. Ronan wouldn't even be able to start to comprehend how powerful this thing was. And yet he didn't even attempt to do it.

"Brought the whole family," he observed, changing the topic.

"You know me. I just hate to be alone," Kavinsky said. "So, are you gonna fuck that old lady you're in, or are you just gonna hold her hand?" He added, provoking Ronan.

The boy raised his eyebrow and asked evenly, "You gonna race with those shades on, you Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash piece of shit?" _Finally_ , Kavinsky thought, _a proper insult._ He was living it up. Kavinsky scratched his wrist on the top of his steering wheel and replied, "What I can never figure out, is if you or Gansey is on top."

He immediately saw how Ronan reacted to it. "What's going to happen is I'm going to beat that car and then I'm going to get out of this car and then I'm going to beat the shit out of you." Dick Gansey and homosexuality: Forever a sore spot.

"Three-hundred-twenty horses say you're wrong, man." Kavinsky said as he touched his neck, "But keep dreaming." He rolled his window back up and tossed his sunglasses onto the passenger seat. It's going to be a great night.

He waited impatiently for the traffic light to turn green. And in a split second, the cars burst form the line. Gansey's car was howling with the wind and the Mitsubishi's growls were barely audible over the sound of it. Kavinsky could never resist the rush. He laughed and laughed and drove until the Mitsubishi was a length ahead of the Camaro, like it always was everytime they start off.

In the second half, Gansey's Camaro caught up with Kavinsky. Just like it always does. And Kavinsky allowed Ronan to rejoice at the purest form of joy the boy could ever experience. The Mitsubishi sagged as Kavinsky buggered the shift from third to fourth. Ronan sped up until the hood nosed ahead of the Mitsubishi and put a length between the two. Kavinsky has been used to this. But something's different now.

He rolled his window down and craned his head to meet Ronan's gaze — blazing and adrenaline-pumped — in the rearview mirror. "FUCK YOU!" Kavinsky shouted and the sound was lost in the noise but not Kavinsky's victory. The Mitsubishi exploded away from the Camaro and the gap was getting close to anything but achievable.

Kavinsky was so fucking hyped.

The Camaro appeared to be shaking and Ronan grabbed the last gear left. The Mitsubishi was still pulling away and Kavinsky extended his hand, waving his middle finger at him, thinking: This isn't like any other night, sucker. He had been busy thinking about all the possible insults he could hurl at Ronan after they're done before he noticed the thing clinging on top of the Camaro.

Kavinsky wasn't one for being frightened but at that moment, he even considered doing it, if not for how exciting this night was turning onto. The thing — Kavinsky decided against giving it a proper name seeing that it really wasn't a fucking proper creature in this reality — had its claws dug deeply onto the Camaro's roof. Kavinsky focused on getting to the Camaro as fast as he could and he saw how Ronan stopped just as the first thing was hurled onto the street. All before Gansey's car hit the telephone pole. Kavinsky flinched. Dick sure as hell would have a heart attack.

Another one of the horrible things was pursuing Ronan, who was lain unmoving inside the driver's seat of the Camaro. The Mitsubishi slid by it and the thing clambered down and hissed at Kavinsky. He leaned to get his chrome gun beneath his seat and shot. The hissing stopped immediately at the first shot. And it was definitely dead at the second one. But Kavinsky let another four shots for pulse. There's never such thing as 'too sure.'

Ronan got out of the Camaro and stared at the thing. His eyes were filled with horror and strangely, recognition. The boy knew where this thing came from. Kavinsky withdrew into his car and returned the gun into its place. Moments later, he got out and rejoined Ronan. He eyed the thing some more, noticing how otherworldly it really was. Kavinsky has had his fair share of horrible, fucked-up nightmares, and this could easily pass as one of those. "Well, that's fucked," he said finally.

He looked over at Ronan, who now seemed to be more occupied of the wreck that was Gansey's car rather than the wreck that was his life. Or what the thing trying to end it moments ago was. "He's going to kill me. Goddamn it. He's going to kill me."

Kavinsky was pissed. It wasn't because Ronan was freaking out. He liked that part, actually. It was because even in the verge of dying, Ronan was more concerned with Gansey's motherfucking car and what would Gansey would motherfucking think instead of his own motherfucking life. And also partly because Kavinsky couldn't give up on this piece of shit however distasteful he was at the moment. However distasteful he was everytime they see each other.

"No, that was going to kill you, man," he started, pointing at the thing. "Gansey'll forgive you, man. He doesn't want to sleep alone." Ha. He was just congratulating himself for having the highest level of masochism in this place when Ronan seized the straps of his tank top and shoved him. "Enough, already! This isn't your fucking Mitsu. I can't go out and buy another one tomorrow morning."

Kavinsky couldn't care less. The Camaro was sweet, he'll give him that, but why should he care? Through further inspection, this was a great thing. If the car was that important, Gansey'll hate Ronan. Ronan would exile himself and turn dark. Kavinsky won't save him from that, of course. He was the dark. And they'll all live their lives horribly and miserably ever after. That would be perfect. But somehow, however insightful Kavinsky was, he went off against himself and offered.

"Look, Lynch," he started. "It's simple. Wrap your tiny Celtic brain around this concept. What did your mom do when your goldfish died?" THIS WASN'T A GOOD IDEA. Kavinsky shouted at himself. This was the worst idea you've ever had, man, easily taking the place of 'existing.'

"I told you," Ronan said as he stopped pacing. "It's not your rice rocket. I can get him another, but it won't be the same. He doesn't want another one. He wants this one." What's the big deal with Dick-fucking-Gansey anyway? Why does everyone want to please that motherfucker? Ronan didn't even want to please himself. And yet he wanted to please the guy. Kavinsky wanted nothing but to punch his face at the moment.

"I'm going to be fucking patient with you," Kavinsky said, "because you've had a head injury. You're not listening to the words I say." Fuck the heavens, how can people even act upon themselves with this stupid concept called 'patience'? Kavinsky thought.

"This is not a goldfish," Ronan said, throwing a hand toward the Camaro.

"You people are such drama queens." Last try on this patience thing. "I'm going to pop the trunk and you're going to scrape that thing into it. And then we're going to take a field trip to concept-land." Ronan eyed him with a look of distrust. Right. Great. Whatever.

"Look, you're having a life-changing experience here. Get in the car before I need to get high again," Kavinsky said. As if Ronan had another option.

* * *

This was different to when Kavinsky imagined it. And it was too soon. He just had a pot session on this new car before the race and he was pretty sure the smell still clung on the seats. He wasn't really prepared for the big 'meeting the parents' deal. Ronan sat unmoving on the passenger seat and looked like he was taking in every single detail of the car's interior. Kavinsky would've been proud, but he was still pissed with how things weren't going as planned.

It wasn't like he didn't want this to happen sooner, but everything was happening so fast and he had no control over it. And so not a single remark passed from his lips as he did the only thing he has ever had control: he drove. Ronan remained quiet as he drove past Henrietta. But just as they drove deeper to the woods, Kavinsky felt Ronan's stare at his hands, taking note different they were.

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart," Kavinsky said humorously. He didn't want to spoil this night. Ronan didn't need to notice how the car's speed was practically improbable without Kavinsky dropping the bomb first.

Recognition was reflected in Ronan's eyes. He knew they were where the substance party was conducted, and a slight tinge of relief washed over him for some reason. Kavinsky pulled onto an overgrown gravel track before reaching the fairground. He stopped and looked at Ronan.

"I know what you are," he said, and he knew how much that meant to both of them. Ronan stared back at him in disbelief, with a look that resembled how he looked at the Camaro's wreckage and Kavinsky wondered whether the boy saw him as one, too. A wreck. That should be on his gravestone. 'Joseph Kavinsky; A wreck. But was proudly a marvelous one at it.' Kavinsky continued driving.

A white car was illuminated by the Mitsubishi's headlights. It revealed a huge spoiler on the trunk and a portoin of a knife graphic on the side. Ronan recognized it immediately, but as soon as the boy convinced himself of possible reasons as to why there would be another Mitsubishi parked in here — sans dents, sans wreckage — another Mitsubishi came to view. Now the relief he had felt earlier made sense. He was relieved to find something recognizable, something not out of the ordinary, something normal. He knew it the moment he lost it.

Kavinsky kept pulling forward. He kept driving, revealing every single white Mitsubishi he has ever created. He wanted Ronan to absorb all this. He wanted Ronan to see how much there was in that beautiful head of his that's simply waiting to be touched. He wanted Ronan to see how much potential he had. And he hoped at that moment, Ronan knew what he has.

"Goldfish," Kavinsky said when the boy looked like he's had his fill, and he knew everything clicked together in Ronan's head.

"I guess I'm not the only one with recurring dreams," Ronan said finally, but continued to eye Kavinsky with a strange new look. He liked this feeling — this natural high. He felt thrilled and excited and strangely elated and he liked it.

"I told you, man," he said. "Simple solution."

Ronan, still barely getting ahold of the present situation at hand, said, "Cars. An entire car." _And that's what you've been missing on the last episode of Your Dreams Could've Been As Fucking Awesome As These_ , Kavinsky thought. Part of him sincerely wanted to shake his head. This boy has so much potential and yet he didn't know it.

"No — world," Kavinsky said, emphasizing the word. _"An entire world."_


End file.
